


To be a good cop

by ck0pz



Category: The Departed (2006)
Genre: Adult Content, Age Difference, F/M, Older Man/Younger Woman, Pre-Canon, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 13:29:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20601584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ck0pz/pseuds/ck0pz
Summary: A chase, a game of cat and mouse.Follows Canon but completely ignores Gwen's existence. Timeline's a mess.





	To be a good cop

I know I’m dead the moment the game’s over. I know I have to keep him rooted.

And I wish it would be harder for me to be this way. Instead, I can't stop my breathing from getting heavier when he’s close to me, I can’t but flutter my eyelashes as a shiver runs down my spine and goosebumps explode on my skin and he sees - he’s watching with his predator eyes; he’s assessing me as he gets closer and closer and I can smell his cologne as he leans on my neck and we touch. Do I regret it? Do I regret teasing him, of all people? I cannot say I do - I’m loving his hands on my waist, his hot breath on my ear; I’m gripping the railings behind me until my knuckles turn white… I suddenly turn my head and there’s barely time for the corners of our lips to brush against each other before I jump over and start running.

Why do you run? Why do you stay? He asks me once. I’m watching him behind my gun, pointed straight at his head. My tendons are hurting from the tension and every fiber of my being is telling me to pull the trigger - to chuck the gun and fuck him stupid. I realize I’m sweating as he smiles and leans back into the wall. “You love this” he says, his arms folding on his chest and my eyes can’t seem to focus anymore: I’m on the verge of orgasm at the sight - at the thought of those strong arms embracing my body as he fucks me into the mattress. He knows and his smile deepens. The curve of his lips is the reason it all started and I think I’ll go crazy - I think I already am. Why do I do this? A tear crosses my cheek and I can’t remember the moment I drop my arms and stand there, defeated, as I realize I’ve fallen for him in ways I couldn’t imagine. This wasn’t the plan - this wasn’t what I wanted and yet… I feel like vomiting as he stands up to get closer and I hold a hand up, stopping him. His face has fallen for the briefest of times; is he as scared as I am? No, I think, he isn’t. He’s never scared of anything.

We met because I made a mistake in judgement, we met by chance (“but does chance really exist? I think we very much fit into some big upper-level plans” he says; I tell him he's full of shit).

I’m a detective of the Massachusetts State Police. I specialized in organized crime - I am, needless to say, top of the class. You can’t become a detective if you’re a woman with less-than-stellar marks. Boston is a tough place for the police - Boston is a tough place, in general. Not that I “would know anything about tough”, I’m told the first day on the job, by Sergeant Dignam. He says I’m too soft to be anything but a housewife. I’m told he’s usually like this and I will learn to deal with him. For now, I struggle to ignore his taints and innuendos - he offers me coffee on more than one occasion and we establish a teasing, sometimes very rude, kind of friendship. We end up fucking in my office once. We never do it again.

Life’s good, I’m a good cop. I’m lonely, but I’m a good cop. Queenan says I’m like a daughter. I’m a good cop.

I’m not a good cop when I feel a chill on my spine at the way he looks at me. I’m still somewhat new when I meet him the first time: we’re trying to catch him red-handed during a sting operation - my first sting operation - and I’m hiding on the roof of a five story building, sweating and swearing as the mob boss gets closer, closely followed by his side-kick. The deal was closed even before we arrived, he was just playing with us, I realize. It’s a quick, passing thought before my brain starts panicking: my hiding spot of choice was truly unfortunate. I can hear Dignam’s frantic yelling in my earpiece and I take it off, shutting the communication. I’m fine, I’m good, I’m okay. I’m a good cop.

I understand he likes to play with his food. I’ve been told before. But I never imagined being the object of his lustful gaze. The first shiver that I get from him. I want to believe it’s fear. He circles me. “So we have a new lady-cop. Wonderful news” he says. I find myself oddly fascinated by his voice. He goes on: “Of course, I’m afraid it’s going to be short-lived - you know how it works, sweetheart - but maybe we could get something out of this... - brief dip into grown-ups business.”

I’m running down the street like a woman possessed when pain shoots up my leg and I fall to the ground like a bag of potatoes. My head spins and my vision goes black for a second. My hand goes to the back of my leg and I can feel blood oozing out profusely. I could be dead but they won't kill me - Costello called me a hellcat and touched my chin - but it's a threat. Dignam shouts at me to run from the back of our van and I stand up and try to stumble over to it - it’s my first and last operation on the field for a long time. But of course, I get another: I'm still a good cop.  


We touch gently and we touch more than we should - my plan (my secret, naive, stupid plan) didn’t involve this kind of intimacy. It should have been about raw sex, about lust, about the animalistic part of him that seemed to forget I was a cop - I was supposed to lure him into a trap, into getting caught. The plan was a failure - he was luring me, if anything, into a quickly spiraling net of madness and want. He talks about a deal we could make, a compromise, an arrangement that can benefit both of us. It’s a scam, I tell him - he’s caressing my cheek with his rough hand, his meaty fingers tracing the line of my eyebrows with reverence. He chuckles. How so? he asks, and he knows he’s got me cornered. It’s tempting, and it’s wrong, but I stopped being a good cop long ago and it’s too late to go back. My fingers itch to touch and I don’t realize that I’m grasping at his jacket until his breathing gets ragged and my eyes fall down, on my tight fists. The fabric feels expensive - all of him feels expensive. I move without thinking, transfixed by the sight of my fingers on his body, and suddenly I’m touching his chest, palms flat against the hard planes of his breast.

We’re humping each other in a blind alley once. He’s running from a failed exchange and I’m running to catch him - it’s the only time we get close to putting him behind bars. We don’t.

I’m still running when I’m grabbed from behind a corner and slammed to a wall. We’re breathing hard and we’re staring into each other’s eyes and I can feel the heavy bulge of his cock pushing on my thigh, just beside my crotch. Just the thought - his manhood, his prowess - gets me wet. “You're becoming too smug, Frank - you'll slip and they'll catch you” I tell him, and the magic is broken and we ravage our lips, kissing and biting and sucking. He’s my dirty secret, my one pleasure in a life of boredom. I won’t tell him of the plans regarding him - I won’t ever catch him if I can get away with it.

He tastes of whiskey, of smoke and something I can never define. I just know I like it and keep coming back to it. 

I find out he fucks like a madman. I find out I’m just a breath away from not being able to take him. I find out on my own bed - and I rage when I realize I’ve let him into my house - and I find out as he rips the clothes off my body and bites at my neck, his cock whipped out and leaking precum on my belly. The fucking is a sloppy mess, a raw, violent, brutal pounding that has me screaming and mewling in utter, unadulterated pleasure. He’s as animalistic as I had dreamed him to be - he grabs my hips and slams inside me. He pistons in and out and chants obscenities under his breath - “yes, my sweet little whore, take it like a good bitch, take it” - and I’m sodden, the wet sound of his balls slapping on my labia filling up the room.

It’s the first time we fuck and the only time I doubt my decisions - the only time I get close to quitting, to run away and leave this madness behind. It’s the moment I understand I can’t back down anymore; I’m addicted to the danger he exudes and I’m trapped - his chest heaves in rhythm with his breathing and I run my fingers through the sparse grey hair that speckle his skin. He looks at me through his lashes, his eyes slits under his heavy eyelids, and he gives me a faint, almost invisible smile.

When he’s able to avoid an unplanned raid I become suspicious. I wasn’t the one telling him - I never have, I never will - so how did he know? There’s a mole among us and I feel naked - for the first time I feel fear as I enter the police station. I try not to turn, not to stare, not to lower my gaze; I tell Dignam there’s a motherfucking spy in our crew and he wheezes - Queenan tilts his head and watches me above the rim of his glasses. A spy is having lunch with us and he knows us all - I feel goosebumps as I look at my colleagues pass by outside the office.

It takes me a while to realize that we’re not the only ones having a security problem: when he turns up on my doorstep and pushes me inside I know something’s wrong. He thought I was a mole - he thought I was THE mole. I laugh and tell him to fuck off; I never knew anything about his plans - that was the unsaid deal we made: he was safe, I was safe, we didn’t share information. He cracks up and cries against my belly, his arms around my torso as he kneels on the floor in front of me. He’s getting old and can’t keep up with the world anymore. I see my chance. “We’ve been doing this for a decade now”, I try to venture, “maybe we could quit”. We make love for the first time since we met. He slides inside me like the gentle lover he’s never been - his wild beard is rough against my skin but the feeling only makes my eyes roll in the back of my skull. I know something is different and I dare hope that my life can settle down, become normal. The constant chase has started to tire me. I stroke his hair afterwards and he sighs against my breast. We’re good.

The next day, everything blows up.


End file.
